She Crept Up on Me
by BryWrites
Summary: She had crept up on him. He never had expected her, never expected to need her- and be needed by her- so much. He didn't even expect her to make it out of the arena alive. Finnick and Annie, from the 70th Hunger Games, to the very end. Oneshot.


She crept up on him.  
It was his fifth year mentoring in the Games.  
Five years of training tributes only years younger than him.  
Ten children he had watched die.

* * *

In a selfish way, he was glad nobody from District 4 had won since him- because it meant less time he would have to spend in the Capitol.  
Five years of being sent between strangers to stay in their beds, become familiar with their bodies, perform as though every touch enthralled him- rather than terrified him, repulsed him, haunted him.  
Though publically, he'd only been "available" for three of those years. The "mysterious" death of his parents had convinced him to partake in the first two.  
The only person he'd ever let himself love since was Mags- Mags who had practically raised him, who had revived him from dark places and reminded him of the best parts of himself, the parts she believed in despite his own doubts.

* * *

Finnick didn't expect her to win. Annie Cresta was fifteen. She was so gentle and so kind. She didn't stand a chance in the arena. It hurt, to watch someone with so much goodness be sent into such brutality. After her partner was beheaded, he was sure it was only a matter of time before she herself was eliminated. He had been _otherwise occupied_ at the time it aired, but Mags told him that Annie held the boy's hand, even though he was dead. Then she ran and hid, her body trembling long after she had run out of tears.

Then the dam burst. No other tribute knew how to swim, not the way she had learned. Annie treaded water for only half an hour, pausing from time to time to float on her back, her eyes closed tight, as though it were all just a dream. The final canon was fired, and they took her away.

Immediately, Finnick and Mags knew that she would never be the same. Greeting them, Annie was shaky and still frightened. She looked over her shoulder constantly, and jumped at any touch. Her interview with Caeser was a mess. The more he asked about the Games, the more highlights they showed, the more unstable she became. Even Caeser couldn't seem to make the best of it. It ended with Annie in tears, rocking back and forth with her hands pressed over her ears.

She said nothing on the train ride home, only stared out the window.

* * *

In the weeks after the Games, Finnick and Mags tried to help Annie find herself again. They tried to calm her, to help pull her back together before she would have to embark on the Victory Tour. Weeks of reliving everything she wanted to forget.

Mags had invited Annie into her home in the Village, in order to keep an eye on her. She had done the same for Finnick when he was still struggling, not trusting him to take care of his own life. She helped him to put the pieces back into place, pull himself out of the darkness.

One day he went up to Annie's room, where she sat looking out at the rain, her knees pulled tight against her chest. There was a bug in her hair, though he doubted she had noticed. When he reached out to brush it away, she flinched, staring with fear-wide eyes at him. He recognized that expression. That had been him a thousand times, recoiling from human touch, believing it to be something harmful.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's okay," she replied, her voice so soft. It was that small connection that broke the barrier. It started slowly. That day, he asked her about the rain and the ocean. The next, he talked her into coming downstairs to join him and Mags for a proper dinner. She even smiled- ever so slightly- at some of his jokes. Every day he went to Mags's house. Every day their conversations delved deeper, and bits of Annie, of the gentle girl he met on the train, resurfaced. They spent a whole week talking through the Games. When Annie began to cry, he would hold her hand, as Mags had done for him. Sometimes she would fold back into herself, pressing her palms so tight over her ears. He would wait until she came back into his world. One morning he returned to find her still dressed in her nightgown, with tired eyes and trembling fingers. Mags was still sleeping, so it was left to Finnick to wake her from her trace. She asked him to brush her hair for her, like Mags had done. He was careful never to pull too hard, as though she was a sweater unraveling, and a tug too strong would bring her undone. It was strange for Finnick, learning to be gentle again. Being valued for his softness and not his strength. Some days he wasn't sure who was helping who. If he hadn't been so engrossed in Annie, he might've noticed Mags watching them sometimes with eyes that held the sort of pride a mother would know.

One night, after hours discussing the Games, the aftermath, the emotions, Annie broke down in shuddering sobs. This time though, it was her hands reaching for Finnick, grabbing on to him as if her was a life preserver. A straw for a girl drowning in memories. No one had ever reached for him like that- as though he were something that could hold them together, and not something for them to break apart. To his surprise, he didn't pull away from her. He was pulled to her, his arms wrapping around her, wanting to keep her safe from the world, his hands stroking her hair to soothe her. They sat that way for a very long time. It was then that he started to look at her differently.

* * *

It became more obvious on the Tour. When Finnick saw Annie, he saw so much more than a girl with brown hair and green eyes, whose hands still trembled, who looked off into space, lost in a world only she could see. When he looked at her, he saw sunlight and starshine, and the moon rising over the sea. He saw hope- hope that his world could be a little brighter, hope that he could be a little better. She made him better. Every smile, every laugh felt like a gift that she had given him. He wanted to live in that laughter. But he caught President Snow watching him at the end of the Tour. A look in his eyes, claiming Finnick Odair as property of the Capitol.

His hope was dashed.

Of course he couldn't feel that way about someone. That would put him out of commission, and Snow out of business. Annie would become somebody Snow could use against him. He wouldn't risk that. And how could he ask that of her? To love someone who could never really be hers? Someone who would be shipped off once a year to sleep in the beds of strangers? He couldn't do that to anyone. Especially not to Annie.

* * *

Sometimes they went down to the beach together. It surprised him when Annie asked one day why he kept coming to see her.

"I care about you," he had said simply. Not a lie, but not the truth either.

Annie got straight to the point. "Do you love me?" she asked.

"Of course. I love you. Mags loves you. I want you to be happy. I want you to be safe." Safe. That was key. He tried to keep his face even, indifferent.

Those green eyes bore into him. "But why do you spend so much time with me?" she persisted. "You could be with anyone. Not some mad girl." If she only knew.

But a strange desire to defend her rose in him. "You're not some mad girl, Annie. You're a girl who's been through a lot. And you're a girl who's kind, and sweet. You make me want to be better. You _make_ me better. Maybe I could spend my time with anyone, but I choose you." He paused, then added, "I _need_ you."

She reached for his hand. "I need you, too."

* * *

Annie turned up at his door one night. "I couldn't sleep," she said. "And I didn't want to wake Mags. But I don't want to be alone."

So Finnick made hot coffee and they sat up in his room, talking through her fears until she didn't feel so afraid. When he came back with another round of coffee, he found her asleep on his bed. But when he started downstairs for the couch, he heard her, calling his name.

"Please, stay with me," she pleaded. So he did. He crawled into the bed, keeping a distance between them. He had never shared a bed with anyone who hadn't paid for him. How strange it was, to sleep beside someone who needed him, and not someone who wanted him.

It wasn't long before he explained exactly _why_ he was so reluctant to stay with her once she fell asleep. It was his turn to unpack everything. And he told her all of it, the story that only he and Mags knew. When he cried, it was she held his hand. When his body shook alongside his voice, she wrapped her arms around him, and stroked his hair.

"I'm sorry," she said, when he had finished.

"Don't be. When I'm with you, Annie, I don't feel like I have to be strong. Like I have to put on a show or protect myself from the world. You help me to trust again. You help me…" He stopped short, but Annie noticed it. It was different than the way she trailed off mid-sentence. His was intentional.

"Help you to what?" she asked quietly. And when he looked at her, he saw her for all she was and all she had done for him. She turned his world to color. She was spring in the winter, and hearing her voice was like coming home. The look in her eyes pulled the truth out of him.

"You help me to love. I love you, Annie." The words were out. There was no turning back. For a brief moment, he thought she would reject him, recoil from him. But she moved closer.

"I love you, too." She smiled at him. "I love you. I love you, Finnick." His heart soared.

"I love you." He repeated. "I love you." He wanted to say it over and over. Again and again, he wanted the world to know how much her loved her. The words he never thought he would have reason to say were suddenly spilling from his lips, and he was laughing. That made Annie laugh, and soon they were both caught up in it, confessing their affections and giggling at the sound of it.

"I love you," Finnick said, picking her up and spinning her around, and they both collapsed onto his bed, gasping for air and trying not to laugh at each other. His hands found hers, and for the first time he slept comfortably beside someone. Someone he loved.

* * *

Mags had seen coming it from the start, and when she finally saw them together, his arm around Annie's waist while she cooked, she couldn't have been happier. She decided to wait until Finnick told her, knowing that the both of them needed their space to adjust to it, and to each other.

Sometimes Annie would come over, and Finnick would hold her until the shaking stopped and what she saw was that which was really there. Sometimes he would sing to her, or make up poems for her. They would lay together, his presence a safeguard against the nightmares. Sometimes he would startle awake in the middle of the night, and Annie would give him space, hold his hand until he fell back to sleep. Then she would quietly tiptoe over to the chair beside his bed, and curl up. Those mornings, he would put a blanket over her, and kiss her forehead, and make her breakfast.

Other nights he would go to her, and she would let him cry, and tell him gentle things, remind him of his worth. Sometimes they would tie knots in ropes and braid them together, tying and untying all of the complicated bits of his history. She touched him softly, asking permission to hold him close. He always said yes.

* * *

When summer came, she made him a necklace, a small shell carved into the shape of a leaf, and tied on to a cord that was sea green, like her eyes. On the day of the reaping, she gave it to him.

"Wherever you go, whoever you're with, you'll have a part of me there with you. To protect you. Like…"

"A token?" he finished. Even when she forgot to end her thoughts, he could guess what she would say. She wouldn't be coming with him to the Capitol- by all accounts she was in no state to be a mentor.

"Yes. So you'll know I love you. No matter what." He knew what she meant. He was forgiven. He was understood. Finnick kissed her before departing, slowly, as if committing it to memory.

Annie didn't watch the Games. In the Village, she waited alone. It was quiet and so empty without Mags or Finnick. Sometimes she went out to the beach, staring at the ocean. More often than not, something in town would trigger memories she tried to outrun, and she would flee back to her room, where there was no one to comfort her or hold her. She was alone with the sounds and sights that had driven her to this state of being. Finnick was far away, spending days and nights with people whose names he didn't want to remember, telling them things he only wanted to tell Annie. It was hard to say who was happier when Finnick and Mags returned. Annie flung her arms around him, and he didn't let her go for some time, breathing in the hint of salt in her hair, feeling her heart beating.

* * *

He was distant from her for a few days following. He didn't want to lay beside her when he had been so intimate with other people. He didn't want to kiss her with the same lips that kissed _them_. He loved her, more than anything. But it was so hard to touch her, and to be touched by her, without remembering the bodies of strangers.

When he explained this to her, she cried. But she cried for him, this time.

"I don't want you to be afraid," she said. She pointed to the necklace she had given him. "I wanted to protect you. You always protect me. But I couldn't be there. So I wanted you to know I was with you in some way. That I knew you didn't want to do those things with those people. That it's okay. That I'll love you in any way that I can."

"Annie, you've saved me more times than you know," Finnick told her. "I need you."

She reached for his hand, slowly, and he let her take it. "I love you, too," she said.

* * *

There were days when things were worse instead of better. She always asked him though, whether it was really happening. He always told her the truth. He didn't mind when she laughed at nothing, or when she stared into space. When she withdrew into herself, he wished he could pull her back from the depths of her own world, and back into the one they shared. But Annie, his Annie, always returned. Annie, whose touch he no longer feared. He longed for it. When he had nightmares of his own, it was holding her that kept them away best. She anchored him there. When he remembered all of the children he couldn't protect, she reminded him that he did all he could to keep them alive. And she never held his "job" against him. She accepted him, all the parts of him that he had taken so long to put back together.

She crept up on him.  
He didn't expect her. Certainly not when they met. How could he have known, how much he would need her? How much she would need him?  
They were one heart, one hope, one being.

* * *

The day the Quarter Quell was announced, Annie couldn't be consoled. When she calmed down the next morning, Finnick tried to comfort her.

"You won't go back in the arena. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"But there's no other male Victors here," Annie protested. "You'll have to go back, and I can't… I can't…"

"You won't. I'll be okay. For you, Annie, I'll do whatever it takes. I'll win, for you." He tried not to think about what it would mean for Mags.

On the day of the reaping, they called her name. She burst into tears instantly. But Mags raised her hand. Of course she did. Finnick didn't know whether to be grateful or sorry, that Mags would do that for them. She was family, for both of them. And then his own name was called. He had nobody he wanted to say goodbye to, except Annie. They talked for as long as they were allowed, and he pulled her close one last time, for one last kiss. They stayed that way until the Peacekeepers came to pull them apart.

* * *

When Haymitch and Plutarch explained the plan, he was wary at first. Risk everything, for Katniss and Peeta? But Haymitch promised they would get him out alive. If he could survive a few days, he would see Annie again. He never would've expected that promise to cost him his oldest friend. Mags went willingly into the fog, but it still broke his heart. Washing away blisters on his skin, he wanted to sink under the saltwater forever. Drown in the sea that smelled like home, the scent of Annie's skin and the beach Mags used to take him to. But Annie needed him. And so he kept a vigil all night instead, a last tribute- how ironic that word was- to the woman who he counted as his mother.

* * *

He was frantic on the hovercraft. How could they have left Annie? How could he have left Annie? The Capitol would take her, even if they didn't know just how much she meant to him. No- they knew now. He had screamed her name in the forest of jabberjays, chased her down. They knew. They probably had for a long time. He had put her in danger simply by caring for her. If she didn't come back, he would never be able to forgive with himself.

* * *

He tied knots in ropes that were too short for a noose. Clearly the doctors didn't understand him. He would never leave as long as there was a chance Annie was alive. Instead he sat alone and sobbed until he was too tired to go on. It was far too much effort to continue with the roles he had been playing- charming, enigmatic, clever, seductive. That wasn't really him. And he had no energy left to put on a good front. He didn't care what anyone thought of him. He had fallen apart all over again, without Annie or Mags to help him pull himself back together. It was so much harder to do alone. He was at least glad that Katniss seemed to understand him. She was finally done being angry with him. And she had promised to get Annie out of the Capitol.

* * *

"How do you bear it?" Katniss had asked him.

He almost wanted to laugh. Could she see him? "I don't, Katniss! Obviously I don't. I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking." There had been a time once, when he had someone to help keep the nightmares at bay. Someone to wake up to.

* * *

They were back. Peeta, his ally. Johanna, his best friend. Annie, his. He was too afraid to move. He wasn't sure what state they were in. If they were even alive. If they would even remember him. He wandered through the hospital wings with Katniss leading him by the hand, feeling more panicked as they went. Where were they? Johanna, on a stretcher. Gale Hawthorne, through a doorway. Where was she? And then, a voice.

"Finnick!" There she was. "Finnick!" Sprinting towards him, and nothing had ever looked so wonderful, and the world around them vanished as she crashed into him. They fell to the floor, limbs tangled together, too afraid to let go. They were crying and laughing, and she was kissing him despite that, and he didn't think he could ever bear let go of her again.

That night, they mourned Mags together. And when he woke up, unable to catch his breath, grasping at nothing, his fingers found her instead. Still there, still real. Still safe.

"I'm here," she whispered. Her voice still sounded like home. She _was_ his home. And he would be hers.

* * *

The day Finnick married Annie was the happiest he day he had ever lived. Never did he think that marriage was a possibility for them. That he would be able to claim her as his, he as hers. At least, not until he was too old to be thought desirable to paying Capitol citizens. Yet there they were, in a strange District, in clothes that weren't theirs, surrounded by friends and strangers alike. Annie looked so beautiful in that green dress. There was no one on earth he would rather spend the rest of his life with, give all of his heart to. When they kissed, both their lips still tasted of salt. She would've danced with him forever.

* * *

They were both nervous. It was another impossible thing, that suddenly wasn't. Before, it was too big a risk. He knew what precautions to take, but if by some chance those safeguards didn't work, it would be all over, for both of them. It was different now. Now, they were safe. They were married. They had their own room, together. They belonged to nobody but each other. Annie had never been with anyone in that way. And Finnick had only been with customers, and never by choice. But Annie had a way of taking his pain, and painting over it with new memories, with happy ones. He wanted to try, for her. It was a first for both of them, to love someone in that way. Nobody else could try to lay claim to him now, not that anyone had ever stood a chance in his heart. But he wanted to be able to give Annie all of him. Heart to heart and skin to skin.

* * *

There were a few short days of pure bliss. Meals spent together, walks through District 13, nights and mornings to spend as they pleased. They went everywhere holding hands. He would have to leave, though. He wasn't valuable enough to keep back in 13. He wouldn'tve been able to just watch Katniss and Peeta go off to fight anyways. This way, at least, he could help bring about a world where he and Annie could be safe. He promised to come back. He had to come back. He still needed her, and she still needed him. Finnick took the necklace she had made him, but left his bracelet from the Quell. This time, she would have a part of him as well. Little did he know that he'd left her with so much more.

* * *

Annie was with him always. All his dreams were of her now. He saw her in Peeta, who now asked what was real and what was not. He saw her in the sunlight and in the stars, the way she had looked to him when he first started seeing her- really seeing her. For her, he could do anything. Run farther than his legs could bear. Carry any weight, stand every blow. He would survive for her.

* * *

But he had a responsibility as well. To Annie, to their future. To Katniss and to Peeta and to all of Panem. Panem needed Katniss, who needed Peeta. And so they both had to survive. Which is why he fought the mutts when he could've taken that time to escape. Maybe she didn't even know it yet, but it was clear to him that Katniss needed Peeta. It was like a reflection of years past. A different time, a different place, a different couple. Finnick felt the hands of the mutts, closing around his ankles, grabbing at him. It would be easy to give in, to give up. But not for him. He had someone to fight for. She had crept up on him once, before. But that love had taken hold. He wouldn't make that mistake now. Not after he had nearly lost her once. He needed her. And she needed him, too.

* * *

He lunged for the ladder.


End file.
